


raw

by visiblemarket



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Smoking, Terrible Jokes, Unsafe Sex, it's a metaphor, mentions of past chas/renee, unpremeditated barebacking, weird probably unhealthy but still loving relationships (ish)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-26 23:53:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16691341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visiblemarket/pseuds/visiblemarket
Summary: John whines around the cigarette in his mouth, and Chas chuckles again.“This is some kind of fantasy for you, isn’t it,” he teases. John’s eyes are shut, and he huffs before taking another drag.“Mm,” he sighs, still threading his fingers through Chas's hair. “First of the day, mate. Shame to waste it."





	1. Chapter 1

“Really?"

John scoffs. “What d’you mean, _really_?"

Chas resists the urge to rolls his eyes. “I hate it when you do that."

“Well, mate,” John says. “You also hate wakin’ up to an empty bed, so...” he gestures vaguely at the cigarette in his hand.

Chas blinks. “Never said that,” he grumbles, because he hasn’t: he’s been careful not to say anything like that, anything that’ll make John think he has any kind of _expectations_.

Though not careful enough, apparently: John gives him a look — long and incredulous, only slightly mocking — and then turns his head, goes back to smoking.

Chas sighs. “Just don’t set my bed on fire."

John smirks, and throws him a long, heated glance. “Think we broke that rule last night, mate."

Chas groans, and rolls over, turning toward John. Feeling suddenly, strangely inspired, he drapes his arm over John’s lap. Leans over, nuzzles his nose against John’s side. John makes a soft, surprised, almost amused sound — between a _hm_ and _huh_ — and drops his hand to Chas's head. Inhales slow and deep, running his fingers through Chas's hair.

Chas kisses the side of his hip. John exhales. “Mm,” he sighs. “Good morning to you too, mate."

“Shh,” Chas murmurs, kissing along John’s stomach, crawling over his thigh. “Don’t ruin it,” he adds, settling between John’s legs.

“R-Right,” says John, as Chas takes his cock into his mouth.

Chas runs his hands up John’s thighs as he swallows, taking in the taste of him, the scent: salt and sweat and smoke, as always. So fundamentally _John_ , so familiar that his own cock stirs, twitching lazily against the sheets. Ignores it for now. Lets his lips slide up and down along John’s shaft, no real rhythm or plan in mind, not even much of a tease — just taking his time with it, for once, because, for once, he can.

He doesn’t do this much. Will reciprocate, usually, when John starts something, but will never initiate. He’s never been very good at that part — almost always wants more than he can ask for, can never quite let himself enjoy it. Has always been afraid of ruining a good thing by coming on too strong.

He doesn’t worry about that with John.

John wants _so much_ , so much more than Chas can give him, and when they’re together — _when they’re_ _fucking_ , John would say, mocking him for being coy — Chas is mostly trying to keep up. Doing his best to fill whatever void John’s feeling at the time, knowing he’ll never quite manage it. He does his best and John is apparently willing to take what he can get, when he’s worked up and desperate and begging to be fucked.

And Chas is willing to admit, he likes this: likes John’s cock in his mouth, plumping against his tongue as John pants and squirms. Likes having that power over him, knowing that it won’t be long till John _is_ begging, till he’s so desperate to come that he’ll agree to anything. Not that Chas has ever — _will_ ever — ask for much, but it’s nice to know he could.

John’s more than halfway there already: breaths sharp, legs trembling. He brings his knees up, and Chas wraps his arms under John’s thighs, turning his head as he searches for a better angle to take him even further in.

John moans, stroking fitfully at Chas's hair again, and shivers. Inhales, deep and deliberate; exhales, slow and intentional.

The scent of cigarette smoke, stronger than before, fills the air, and Chas looks up.  Snorts around John’s cock, which jolts, dribbling precome against Chas's tongue as he pulls off. John whines around the cigarette in his mouth, and Chas chuckles again.

“This is some kind of fantasy for you, isn’t it,” he teases. John’s eyes are shut, and he huffs before taking another drag.

“Mm,” he sighs, still threading his fingers through Chas's hair. “First of the day, mate. Shame to waste it."

Chas rolls his eyes but ducks his head again, sucking gently at the tip.

John hums, happily, breaths coming faster as Chas licks a strip along the underside of his dick. His hips jerk up but Chas pushes him back, one hand flat on John’s stomach, keeping him still. A simple show of strength, the kind he knows John likes — he hears John moan again, panting as the muscles of his belly twitch impatiently against Chas's palm — and Chas has to smile.

Keeps one hand where it is, slides the other down along John’s thigh. Presses one finger inside of him — John’s slick and loose from the night before, and easily takes another, back arching as Chas fingers him.

John squirms impatiently as Chas sucks him off, but then settles, leaning back and spreading his legs, carding one hand through Chas's hair and bringing the cigarette to his mouth with the other.

Chas crooks his finger and John jolts.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Chas hears him pant, feels him begin to tremble, to strain against Chas's grip and twist. He gets that way when he’s close, breathless and nervous, strung tighter and tighter until he snaps.

Chas pulls off again.

John whines. "What're you— _oh_ ,” he gasps, as Chas pulls him down, flat on his back against the mattress. Leans over him, and John chuckles a little — desperate, hysterical — before reaching up take another drag from his cigarette to steady himself.

Chas lets him, watches the cigarette shakes as John inhales, and then plucks it from John’s grasp. John’s too busy blowing smoke in his face to pout, but frowns when Chas stubs it out.

“Coulda just—“ Chas kisses him and he almost seems to melt, goes all tender and accommodating. Stroking the side of his face, sucking at Chas's tongue. Rubbing weakly against Chas's stomach, hands slipping carefully under Chas's shirt.

“Mm,” John says, turning his head, taking a breath — his eyes are shut and his lips are swollen pink, and his voice is soft, almost dreamy. “You taste like me."

“You taste like an ashtray,” Chas says, as if he’s not used to it by now. He kisses John again and John snorts, pulls impatiently at Chas's shirt.

“Off already,” he says, into Chas's mouth, and Chas reaches down, pulls away just enough to slip his shirt up and over his head. Leans down again, and John throws one arm around the back of his neck, pulls him into another kiss. His other hand slips lower, pushing past Chas's boxers  and wrapping possessively around his cock. Pulls it out, draws it to himself. Lining himself up, Chas realizes, and stills.

“John—wait — John—“ Chas manages, barely, too preoccupied with the feeling of John panting against him and sucking at his neck to think straight. Knows they should slow down, can't quite remember why.

“Please,” John says, and then, “Need you," mumbled into the side of Chas's neck. And of course that’s all it takes — Chas has never been very good at turning John down, and has never wanted anything as much as to be needed by him.

“Take me,” John breathes, and Chas does: pushes into him in one quick, thoughtless thrust — _too quick_ , he worries, distantly — and John cries out, sharp enough that Chas freezes.

“Too much?” Chas mumbles as John gasps in his ear, as John trembles beneath him and clenches around him, impossibly hot and surprisingly tight.

John shakes his head, nuzzles at the side of his neck. Sucks in a few deep, deliberate breaths — Chas feels each and every one — and then speaks: “Just enough,” he sighs, relaxing and then, with a hint of a grin against Chas's neck: “Could do with a bit more, actually."

 _Don't know where you think you'd get it,_ Chas doesn’t say. Reaches down to grab at John’s hips instead, keeps John steady as he pulls out and thrusts back in. Faster, this time, rocking into him, already too far gone to keep any sort of rhythm going. So desperate to be inside of John, to feel him falling apart, to hear him panting in his ear.

“Christ,” John gasps. “Christ, you’re too much. So…so bloody good to me,” he runs his hands up and down Chas's sides, up along his spine. “Love your cock. Love—“ he stops, and Chas looks up at him. John shuts his eyes. “…this,” he says, and Chas kisses him, knowing that’s as close as he’s going to get.

Kneels on the bed, pulls John’s body into his lap. Sheaths himself entirely inside of John, holding him still as he arches off the bed, shoulders pressing into the mattress. Chas looks down at him — flushed all over, deep patches of red beneath the stark black of his tattoos, stomach rising and falling, shallow and sharp with each breath. Chas reaches down, and pulls John’s legs up and around his waist. Drops one hand to John’s cock, keeps the other on John’s leg. Wraps it around his thigh, digging his fingers into the already twitching muscles.

A couple of quick, glancing strokes, and John begins to squirm again, legs tightening around Chas's waist, trying to draw him in tighter, closer. Chas brings his hand up and licks his palm. Strokes at him again, slick and familiar, working John up to the fluttery eyelashes and the thrown back head and the desperate, whimpering sounds that mean he’s almost there.

He’s not alone. Chas can barely think, from how turned on he is — from how warm John’s body feels, hot and slick and clenching around him. John’s cock is firm in his hand, skin slick from precome and Chas's own spit. John whines, trying to thrust into Chas's grip again. Chas quickens the pace of his hand, tight, brisk strokes even as he rubs gently at John’s hip with his other hand.

John lets out a groan that vibrates between them, low and long and almost pained, and Chas comes first, to both of their surprise. Grabs at John’s hips and pulls him closer, panting as he pulses into John’s body, and then drops his hand back to John’s cock. Pumps at it, quick, reckless strokes, grip tight and slick with spit, till John comes, all over his own chest and into Chas's hand.

They pause.

They breathe.

John’s legs drop away from Chas's hips, and Chas almost collapses, pulling out of John and flopping down onto the bed beside him.

John stays where he is, on his back and panting, but reaches over, hand flopping at Chas's torso till it reaches the height of his heart. John, still gasping up at the ceiling, still trembling — enough that Chas can feel him across the mattress — turns his hand over. Presses his palm to the center of Chas's chest, so tight he must feel Chas's heart pounding.

“ _Fuck_ ,” John practically croaks, voice rough and exhausted.  “ _Fuck_ , I can still feel your come inside me."

Chas blinks. _Fuck_.

He hadn’t realized. Hadn’t even thought of it. Isn’t entirely prepared to think of it now — they’ve never done this, never gotten so carried away as to forget.

“Sorry,” Chas offers, as his mind races to come up with anything better.

John laughs. “Christ,” he says, and rolls over, groaning over dramatically as he does. Lays his hand against Chas's cheek, and then pushes his head over,  so they’re eye-to-eye again. “Can hear you thinkin’ all the way over there."

“You want me to stop?"

“ _Yeah_ ,” says John, like it’s obvious, and leans over to kiss him. Slow and wet, with a low, quiet sigh of satisfaction when he’s done. “’s’ all right,” he murmurs. “Just stay put for a bit."

It’s tempting. John’s in a good mood — John’s always in a good mood after sex, though usually not quite this quiet and inclined to curl up against Chas's side and nuzzle their noses together. Usually it’s less cuddly afterglow and more...a renewed energy to go out and kick the world in the bollocks, as John would say.

And Chas is not complaining. He likes knowing John is happy, likes having him close and quiet and not on the brink of reckless stupidity and destruction, self or otherwise.

But this is a dangerous habit to get into — to get attached to this side of John, the warm, content, needy side — when Chas knows they’re just biding time together.

“John,” he says, and John gives a soft, sleepy hum into his shoulders. “John, we have to get up."

“Do we, then?"

“I have to — I have to take a shower. Make breakfast. The cab’s been making that noise again, if you—"

John stills. Takes a breath. Then yawns, wide, rolls onto his side, and reaches over.

Chas is struck by the strange but not unfamiliar feeling he may have just fucked something up. “John?"

“Mm?” John says, cigarette already in mouth, hands in the process of lighting it. “Yeah?"

“Just…"

“You’ve a busy day ahead of you, _Chas_ ,” he says, and waves vaguely at him with his free hand. “Get on with it, then."

“John."

“ _What_?” John says, sitting up. Winces, and Chas's first instinct — to reach out, to comfort, to apologizes — is held off by John’s immediate, almost withering glare.

“Nothing,” Chas says, and gets up, and goes.

 

***


	2. Chapter 2

The blast of hot water is exactly what he needs — bordering on the edge of scalding, coursing over him and drowning out his racing thoughts and the memory of John’s body beneath him.

Once he adjusts to it, memories creep back — not just of John, though he’s got a certain amount of prime real-estate: flushed, panting, back arching and legs tight around Chas's waist.

Skin to skin. Inside and out, whatever that might mean.

Nothing much to John, obviously.

But to Chas — it’s different. He hasn’t been with someone like that since — well, since Renee. After the fire, in the soft, hazy days after the hospital, they’d — tried.

Chas's idea, a strange impulse he doesn’t understand now and didn’t understand then, but something about having been so close to death — having to face it over and over, to take it upon himself without any real choice — had made him want to get everything he could get of life.

So that had meant sex. A….lot of sex. And Renee in that dress he loved — though not, admittedly, for long — and a vague, bright plan for the future. He’d always wanted a bigger family. Geraldine had been a happy accident in the lean years, but they were settled now, could have one or two more kids if they wanted — if Renee wanted — and she was right there with him, until she wasn’t.

Actually, to be fair, until Chas wasn’t — until John and his _plans_ and his _problems_ and his mess had come knocking on their door again. And Chas, as always, had let him in.

Chas blinks.

The water’s gone cold. He sighs, and turns it off. Dries off, wraps a towel around his waist, and braces himself for the rest of the day.

John is gone by the time Chas returns to his room, leaving behind rumpled sheets and a strong enough cloud of smoke that Chas can practically taste it. There’s remnants of three cigarettes in the ashtray, because of course there are.

John was making a _point_ , leaving the whole room reeking of cigarettes and sex and whatever else John drags with him — residual magic, garden variety bullshit, that kind of thing — wherever he goes.

Chas sighs. Wonders if it’s worth it to even make the bed, or just strip it, dump the stained sheets in the wash and call it a morning.

It’ll give him something to do, at least, something other than avoiding John and whatever lingering awkwardness there’ll be between them.

***

He shouldn’t’ve worried: John’s nowhere to be found.

Not in the kitchen, the dining room, the other bedrooms. Chas wonders, uneasily, whether the house itself might be hiding him. There wouldn’t be much he could do about it if it was, but god, it’s a creepy thought.

He runs into Zed coming back to the kitchen.

“Good morning,” she says, still drowsy. “Where’s John?"

Chas shrugs. “Who knows,” he says, not meeting her eyes. “You want breakfast?"

Zed laughs, rueful, tying her hair up. “You don’t have to make me breakfast, Chas."

“I’m gonna make it anyway,” he says, and does: pancakes and bacon, complemented by strawberries and bananas Zed is kind enough to slice up before she sets the table, just for the two of them.

“You okay?” she says, as they’re eating. She’s got one foot up on her chair and is waving a strip of bacon at him.

“Could be worse,” he says, which is almost always true.

Zed gives him a long look, and goes back to chewing on her bacon. “I think John took my truck,” she says, finally.

“What?"

“The keys are missing. It’s not a big deal, I’m not planning to go anywhere today, but—"

But John can’t drive. John is more of a hazard on the road than in any other aspect of his life, and given John’s life, that’s saying something.

“We could call him?” offers Zed, clearly sensing his obvious panic.

“He broke his phone again,” Chas reminds her, and she rolls her eyes. Chas almost wants to laugh — out of hysteria if nothing else — but just sighs instead. “I’ll talk to him when he gets back."

She looks at him again — definite pity in her eyes, and Chas isn’t surprised. Of course she knows. “No, _I’ll_ talk to him,” she says, matter of fact. “It’s my truck. You don’t always have to _handle_ him, Chas."

 _Oooh, but Chas_ likes _handlin’ me_ , drawls a familiar voice in Chas's head. Chas ignores it.

“I know,” Chas says instead, and Zed shakes her head and smiles, not unkindly.

“But you will anyway,” she says, and Chas — who can’t deny it — just shrugs.

***

The amount of handling he ends up having to do is minimal.

John comes back around noon, with an average kind of distracted scowl, and goes straight back to his room.

Chas lets him go — he hadn’t been lying, he does have things to do. Working on the cab, cleaning out the kitchen, doing laundry for them both, because John’s figured out Chas’ll do it for him and has stopped even pretending to bother.

John wanders out from his bedroom around dinner time — skipped lunch, which isn’t unusual for John, though he's been better about it lately — and seems in a marginally better mood. Less scowling than earlier, at least, if no more inclined to even basic conversation than before.

Between the three of them, Zed ends up bearing the burden of propelling even the most basic facsimile of a normal dinner time discussion. She gives up on it, quickly, and they all settle into the quiet, tired silence.

When they’re done, Zed helps him with the plates, dries them off after he’s washed them.

John disappears again, only to return — coincidentally or not — once the kitchen’s been cleaned up, to do who knows what with a pile of sticks and something noxious oozing out of a glass bottle.

Zed throws him a look, then glances over to Chas, who is not in the mood to engage.

“I’m headed to bed,” he says, shaking his head at Zed, since John’s turned away from them both and can’t see him.

John doesn’t look up. “‘night, mate.”

Chas blinks. Okay, then. Two can play at that game.

“Good night, John," he says, and digs in: "See you in the morning."

***

Chas lies awake that night for a long time.

Not quite waiting — he knows John isn't coming — but Chas has to admit, to himself if no one else, that he’s a little disappointed about it.

***

Two days pass like that — trying to figure out why John’s in one of his moods, wondering if it’s even worth trying to bring him out of it.

He makes a lot of fairly involved meals. Zed rolls her eyes a lot. John stays out of his space, barely even meeting his eyes most of the time, and Chas keeps going to bed alone.

On the third day, Chas returns from cleaning the kitchen after lunch to find a white envelope on his bed. It’s addressed to him, with the return address of a medical testing company he's never heard of.

He opens it, glances through the contents. Sighs, and returns to the living room, where John’s fucking around with his charts again.

“What is this?” he says, dropping the envelope and its contents in front of him.

“What’s it look like?” says John, amused.

“Looks like you went and got an STD test. Under my name. For some reason."

“Used your credit card, too,” John says, not bothering to hold back a smirk. Then shrugs, and ducks his head. Pushes the results back toward Chas. “Thought it’d — thought it’d put you at ease."

“John—"

“Just so you know, mate: there hasn’t been anyone else,” he says, hands twitching for a moment before smoothing out the curling edges of a map.

“Huh?” Chas says, playing up the confused idiot angle — sometimes that’s easier with John, to let him explain himself and feel just a little bit superior.

“Since we started up,” John glances over, waves a hand between them. “Hasn’t been anyone else. ‘least not for me."

“Me neither,” Chas says, quick and pointless: between babysitting John and driving around the country and going back and forth to Brooklyn every other week, when would he have had the time?

He takes a step closer to John, who rolls his shoulders and drops his gaze again.

“I’m clean,” he says. "And I’m careful."

Chas huffs, and practically feels John rolls his eyes.

“In bed, I mean,” John clarifies, fond but condescending. “Don’t get carried away like that, usually. Haven’t, not for a long time."

Chas's not sure if he believes him: John is cynical and cold and unshakably bent on self preservation until he’s not. He’s as far from a romantic as it’s possible to be, but strangely sentimental when it’s especially inconvenient. He lies and obfuscates and has no apparent guilt, but he’s honest about it.

“What are you saying?” Chas says, already feeling weary, but beginning to suspect John needs to have whatever he’s desperate to say dragged out of him.

John shrugs. “Sayin’ if you wanted to do it again — like that — sayin’ it’d be all right."

“Because you’re not sleeping with anyone else?"

“I’d tell you if I was,” John says, almost insulted, and this, strangely, Chas does believe — John’s first move is never honesty, but in a case like this, if honesty offered a route toward self-sabotage, John certainly would take it.

Chas sighs, and lets himself rest against the table — not quite sitting on it, but close enough. John looks over at him, and smiles a little — only a hint of a smirk in it, the bare shimmer of smugness.

Fuck it, Chas needs clarity. “You’re talking about a relationship, here,” he says, though it’s really a question.

John snorts, rolling his eyes as he straightens up. “Christ, you’re thick,” he says, turning around. Glances down, entirely unsubtly. “In more ways then one, I mean."

“Great,” says Chas. “What this moment really needed was a dick joke."

“Your dick’s no joke, mate,” says John. "It's a bloody institution.” Chas rolls his eyes, and John sighs dramatically. “Fine. Here it is, then: I always thought we were makin’ a proper go of it, you and me. Not just sex, the rest of it, too."

“Why didn’t you tell me?"

“Figured you knew. Figured you wanted the same. But if you don’t —"

“I do."

John grins, then seems to catch himself and turns around again. “Right,” he says, to the table in front of him. "Well, that’s sorted, then."

“Hey,” Chas says, coming up behind him. “Let me ask you something."

“Can I stop you?” says John, which Chas ignores, and then presses back against him, which Chas grins at, nuzzling his nose against the back of John’s neck for a moment before he speaks again.

“Are you for real?” he says, hooking his chin on John’s shoulder.

John half turns to look at him, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?"

“It means…” he presses in closer, kisses the side of John’s throat. “Did you mean all that, or did you just like having my bare dick up your ass?"

The sound of something large and fluttery falling to the floor startles them apart before John can answer.

“Sorry, Zed,” Chas says, feeling himself flush deep red — stoops over to help her pick up the sketchpad and pack of pencils scattered across the floor. She rolls her eyes at him as she, too, kneels to collect what she can.

“You’re like teenaged boys, both of you,” she says.

“I resent that,” says John, who’s still standing by the table and making no effort to help in the retrieval efforts.

“I resent knowing as much as I do about your sex life,” Zed shoots back, and huffs as Chas hands her the last few pencils he’s found. “But here we all are."

John huffs and gives a vague _if you say so_ kind of wave before going back to whatever he’s pretending to do. Chas straightens, and offers Zed a hand to get back on her feet. She takes it, shaking her head, as she heads over to toward John.

“We’ve got a new hit on the map, _by the way_ ,” she says, spreading it out on the table along with her notepad and the loose sheets of paper.

“Could’ve led with that,” John huffs, stepping back to look everything over. “Where?"

“Evanston,” says Zed, and Chas sighs — he’s not looking forward to driving half way across the country, should go and check on the cab to make sure it can make the trip.

John and Zed are in deep discussion — well, more like garden variety bickering — which they don’t really need him for, even as a referee. He takes another quick look at them, just to make sure, then nods to himself and heads outside.

***

He’s finishing up under the cab when the hairs at the back of his neck stand up — footsteps approaching, he realizes. And then a light, careful kick to his shin.

He rolls himself out from under the car.

John’s got his hands in his pockets and a look on his face like he’s desperate for a cigarette — when doesn’t he, really — but in this at least, Chas has prevailed: no smoking when the hood of the cab's up, or amidst piles of dry leaves.

“What’ve we got?” Chas asks, wiping the grease and oil off his hands with a spare rag.

“Succubus, looks like,” John says.

“Great,” Chas says, wincing.

"Try to keep you out of it," John offers, for all the good they both know that'll do.“Thinkin’ of leaving tomorrow morning, if that’s all right."

“All right by me,” says Chas, who’s slightly surprised to be asked. “Guess I’ll go pack?"

“In a bit,” says John, crouching down to Chas's  level and looking him in the eye. “So...

"So?"

"Been thinking ‘bout what you asked me."

“What did I ask you?"

“If I was ‘for real’,” he says, doing an incredibly sloppy American accent. “Or if I just wanted you to fuck me raw."

Chas does a casual glance around, making sure Zed’s out of ear shot, and tries to ignore the heat he feels rising in his cheeks. “Yeah?"

“Well,” John says, leaning over to press a quick, wet kiss to the Chas's mouth. "Bit of both, innit?"

Chas has to laugh, and shakes his head. "Yeah," he says, as John straightens out of his crouch and twists his neck till it cracks. "Yeah, okay."

John grins, and offers him a hand. Chas takes it, leverages himself back on his feet, and lowers the hood of the cab. 

They walk back to the house together.

John pulls out a pack, and a lighter, and Chas sighs.

"What?" John says, cigarette already dangling from the corner of his mouth.

"At least wait till we get inside," says Chas, still wary of the crisp leaves underfoot.

John throws him a quick, complicated sort of look — vaguely annoyed, mostly amused. Strangely fond.

Then he sighs, making a great show of taking the cigarette from his mouth and tucking it behind his ear. Shoves his hands in his pockets again.

"All right,  love," he says, throwing Chas another quick smirk. "Just for you."

 

***

**Author's Note:**

> anyway happy thanksgiving y'all i'm thankful for anyone who still reads my nonsense.


End file.
